The Olympians: The Fall of Kin

The Sisters

Devyn wasn't one of them. And neither were the mysterious Bartholomew Black or Scorch Throne. Black had his mask off at the time. They both stood on the third deck, looking out at the whole of the team as they knelt, placing their hands on the also kneeling Kyn.

It's alright. Devyn told himself. But he didn't feel that. None of them had ever truly accepted him, save Artemis or Juzou, one of which was missing in action. He wanted to be down there, supporting his friend, but he felt as though his presence might cause unease. At least it was enough to know that heaven—or hell, maybe—was real. Or maybe Kyn had tricked them into thinking it was real. Either way, it was hope and there was never enough of that to go around.

"That's amazing..." Scorch spoke. "All of them...they're so close. So bound together, as though they might walk to the ends of The Earth for each other. Can't help but admire them as a team."

Devyn scoffed. "Funny thing is a lot of them are rather new. The one they've surrounded, big guy with the blond hair? He's an assassin that joined us earlier this year. Same for the guy with the brown hair, his name's Apollo. And them? The humans, called Pseudos, I think, they joined us only a week ago. It feels like so much longer than that, but yeah. They've gotten so close. Makes me sick. How they trust one another with their lives already. Each of them could betray the other at any moment."

Black sighed. "Man, that's cynical, even for me, and that's saying something."

"Yeah, talk about a downer." Scorch chucked Devyn in the shoulder. "Kinda' cute though."

"Yeah, and I just met you two days ago and you're already the most annoying person I've ever met, and boy is that saying something. I'm going back to bed. Let me know if something else something serious actually happens."

Devyn left in a huff.

Scorch chuckled, peering down at the lot of them. She didn't understand their pain. She knew something had happened. Something had changed within their group.

She was an outsider looking in. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she'd taken them up on their offer to come with them. No, that wasn't right. She knew exactly why. It was to get justice. She hated all of these people with a passion, or at least, she did. Now, after seeing all of them like this, she couldn't be so sure. So, she had to focus on the only thing she knew, and that was that whoever had destroyed her city, whoever had killed the people she had sworn to protect since she'd donned this symbolic uniform.

She supposed that it verged on vengeance, but that was okay. Justice would come, whether it was delivered by her hand or not. These people? Their goals aligned with hers, and that was all.

"Death and destruction." Black pulled his mask back on, becoming the strange Disorder that had made Scorch uneasy since she'd met him. "Constants. Not like life. Life is a fickle creature. It screams like an infant some days, and others, it roars like a lion. It cheers us on and knocks us down. We hate it and it hates us. We love it; it loves us. An endless cycle of turbulence."

"Creep factor." Scorch scowled. "I'm gonna' go get drunk."

"Drink; don't drink. It matters not." Disorder spoke before disappearing in a blur of black.

"God, that guy. Creepy as hell." She scoffed, made her way back inside and down to the Mess Hall. She wound through the line of tables until she reached the kitchen. Entering, Scorch quickly found her way to the cooler.

Inside, she found exactly what she was looking for.

Whoever had loaded this thing up—Atlanteans would be her bet—they'd gotten the right stuff to get her fuuuuuckked up. High grade liquor called Greek-Fire that was made specifically to get Godkin drunk. She grabbed two bottles from the grated shelves, then sat down in the cooler. It was nice to be stretched out, wearing normal clothes for the first time in days. A pair of black jeans and a zebra striped shirt that hung loosely on her shoulders. She popped the caps off of both of the bottles with a giddy grin smeared across her pleasant face. The sip that trailed down her throat a few seconds later came with a satisfying burn.